Fact and Fiction
by Max Brown
Summary: The Flock have been captured, their memories erased. Max is now in Southern California at a school with Fang. Can the two of them remember who they are and what happened to them before they're discovered? Some Fax.
1. Starting

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's. **

**Please read and review! Thanks!!**

* * *

**This is just an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while, so I finally had to sit down and write it. It's Max/Melanie's point of view here. Hope you like it!**

**-Max**

* * *

Ch. 1 – Starting

The first thing I noticed was the shrill shrieking of the alarm clock, like a fire drill, only more contained. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. The fluffy down provided temporary relief from the noise, but I couldn't escape from the fact that I had to get up.

I lay there for another moment, then sighed and rolled up into a sitting position. I've never been much of a morning person. But I can deal with sleepiness. I have for fourteen years. The joys of being a teenage girl.

Let me back up a sec.

I'm Melanie, Mel for short. Recently my family moved to Los Angeles from Maine. A great job opportunity opened up for my dad there, so we packed up and shipped our stuff and ourselves across the country.

To be honest, I didn't really mind. I mean, I went through the expected pre-friendship stresses, but towards the time we actually moved, I found myself looking forward to it. I wasn't exactly the most liked person at my school in Maine, and I've always thirsted for adventure. And change can be adventure, so this move qualified.

Anyway, now here I was, dragging myself up out of bed to get changed and have breakfast for my first Monday at Lakewood Prep.

I sat down at the table while my mom got me a bowl of Cheerios. I was sure I was a complete mess, but I couldn't have cared less. I eagerly spooned all the cereal into my mouth, suddenly ravenous.

"Thanks," I told her, a little self-conscious. Gratitude and apologies have never been my thing. Personally, I think the world would be a much more efficient place if we just took down all the rules of etiquette and manners. But we haven't, and I'm not the one deciding these things.

"No problem," she replied, a smile glued onto her face. How she managed it at this hour of the morning, I have no idea.

That was pretty much it for conversation between us. I ate some toast in silence, and she read a magazine and drank her coffee.

I curled up in a big chair, a soft blanket over my legs, and continued rereading the second Maximum Ride book for the umpteenth time. Ever since I was introduced to these books, they've been my favorites. Nothing has come close to comparing. I don't know why I like them so much. I guess it's just that they're funny and they have good messages. And I really like the characters.

I go through book phases. Periods of intense obsession. Once I went through a Harry Potter phase, once I went through a Twilight phase. Now it's Maximum Ride. I mean, I've even had dreams about it. Yeah. It's that intense.

So I ate and read and slowly woke up. It was the usual routine, just in a different setting. California, not Maine.

After breakfast I got my stuff together and we headed out. I was only a little apprehensive as we pulled into the Lakewood Prep parking lot. Our Mercedes-Benz fit in with the other Mercedes-Benzes and the Porsches and the Ferraris that dominated the parking lot.

I waved my mom goodbye and walked toward the door of the school.

It wasn't at first a very impressive sight. Red brick building, two stories, with the words _Lakewood Preparatory High School _on the front. As soon as I stepped through the dusty glass doors, though, I was immediately overwhelmed by what I saw.

It _wasn't _two stories – it was one big open space with ceilings like a cathedral and paintings on the walls like an art gallery. The front wall was covered by a gigantic mural of angels with wings above the people of the earth, who appeared to be engaged in war. The other walls were a deep green, but in a way that made the light coming in from the windows stand out. Then there were tons of sculptures and other artworks which seemed to compliment the room perfectly. There were trees growing from the floor and there were terra cotta window-box-like things on the walls with green plants overflowing and dangling down towards anyone below.

It was beautiful.

I snapped back to reality as someone in a red shirt with Donald Trump's picture on it bumped into me. He seemed to know where he was going.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey, wait!" I tried to say, but he was gone. I sighed and tried to look for someone else around my age who would be able to point me in the right direction.

It didn't take long. Another girl passed by, chatting with two friends. Her curly red hair perfectly framed her round face, and her small hazel eyes darted up to me as soon as I tapped her shoulder.

"Umm, could you tell me where Room 201 is?" I asked her.

"Yeah. I'm going to 203, so I could take you there," she offered. I smiled at her. Her friends waved her goodbye and headed away from us.

"Thanks," I said, relieved. "I'm new here, so..."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm Amanda, by the way."

"Melanie."

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." We started walking down a hall with hard wood floors, our footsteps clapping loudly every step. I had to resist the urge to start tap dancing.

"So what school do you come from?" asked Amanda.

"You wouldn't have heard of it. It's in Maine," I explained. Her eyes widened a fraction.

"Maine? Really? Cool. I've never met anyone from the East Coast. Did you like it there?"

"Yeah. I guess. It's not really that different. Not yet, anyway." I smiled.

"Well, I hope you like it here," she said, stopping abruptly. "This is 201. I'll see you at lunch, I guess?"

"Yeah. Lunch."

"'Kay."

I strode into my history class confidently, smiling defiantly on the inside. Glowing with pride. I hadn't even had my first class and I already had a friend.

Maybe this would all turn out okay after all.

* * *

**Virtual cookie for anyone who reviews, floating around in cyberspace. It could be yours... Just tell me what you thought, please. Flames gladly welcomed. I just want honest opinions, basically. Don't feel like you have to sugar-coat it if you think the creation of this was the worst catastrophe that's happened since _Vas O No Vas_ was cancelled.**


	2. Friends and Classes

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

**Hey guys!! Please read and review! Criticism is welcome. Whatever you honestly think of it. Thanks!**

**-Max**

* * *

Ch. 2 – Friends and Classes

Only about half the desks were taken when I came in. I ended up in one in the second row and slightly off to the left.

Even the desks had a kind of rustic beauty to them. Dark wood elegantly carved and heavily polished. I didn't see the point in spending truckloads of money on things as simple as desks, but then again, I wasn't the professional decorator of the school.

I stared blankly toward the chalkboard, tapping my pencil impatiently on my desk, as people slowly filed in. Chatting with friends. Planning the weekend. Street names and restaurants without any meaning to me.

A boy with blondish hair and green eyes came and sat on my left. He was kind of cute, I noticed. I made no indication I'd seen him sit down, though.

That's the kind of girl I am. I _notice _things. I observe. But that's it. I'll never go all fluttery over a cute boy. Not me.

"Hey, I'm Jake," I heard him say. He was leaning over into the aisle between our desks, with a silly grin pasted on his face. _Boys are kind of like dogs, _I thought to myself absentmindedly.

I smiled discretely.

"Melanie," I replied, trying to sound polite.

"You're new here," he told me. I nodded.

"Mhm," I said, biting back my other, somewhat less dignified remarks that immediately sprang to mind.

That's another thing about me. I have this thing about people. Whenever I first meet someone, I'm never inclined to go talk to them, unless I don't have a choice. I'm always suspicious. Call it paranoia. I call it street smarts.

"So what do you think so far of Lakewood Prep?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"It's nice."

He laughed.

"Yeah, a little much, isn't it?"

"Just a little," I mumbled, smiling reluctantly. I had to admit, he was being nice enough. Friendly, at least.

"So what school were you at before you came here?" he asked.

"A school in Maine."

"Really? Wow, Maine. The other side of the country. That's so awesome."

"Yep," I replied, popping the p, and turning back toward the front of the class.

Jake looked like he wanted to say something else, but at that moment the teacher got up and cleared her throat.

Ms. Samuels seemed to fit in perfectly with the theme of the school – young, rich, and glamorous. Her deep red hair fell in perfect waves down her back, her giant baby blue eyes standing out on her face.

She shook out her hair behind her as she walked to the front of the class, looking dangerously similar to a L'Oréal commercial. It was kind of disgusting and fascinating at the same time.

"Hello, class. My name is Ms. Samuels. Here I have a syllabus of the outline of the material we're going to be doing this year. Basically, we're going to be studying ancient history this year. We're starting with the ancient Egyptians. And welcome to ninth grade," she said in a deep voice, while walking around the classroom and passing out the syllabuses.

I glanced mine over once I got it. It looked pretty involved – we were going to be covering a lot of stuff this year.

Ms. Samuels then proceeded to talk about every book were going to be reading, every topic we'd be studying, all our big projects and papers we were going to have to write. General stuff. But then, that's what the first day is supposed to be like.

I could feel many eyes on me during the lesson – Lakewood Prep wasn't a large school by any stretch of the imagination; any additions to the student body were inevitably very noticeable. I could also sense Jake trying to get my attention, trying to meet my eyes at different points during the hour. I never returned his glance, though.

Finally, the giant wooden grandfather clock rang out, its deep bells chiming, signaling the end of class. Everyone gathered up their stuff and was on their way out of the room before I had finished stuffing my syllabus in my binder. I was the last one out, but I found Jake waiting for me at the door.

"Hey, what class do you have next? I could show you the way there, if you'd like," he said, unhitching himself from the side of the doorway. I smiled my gratitude in response.

"Yeah, that'd be great. I have chem next. What about you?"

"Bio." He smiled ruefully. "All the science labs are in the same area, though. It's not that complicated a layout. You'll learn quickly."

We walked together to the science labs, him asking me questions about Maine. He seemed genuinely intrigued, which stuck me as weird. I didn't protest, though.

Finally, though, we got to the science rooms. He seemed reluctant to leave me alone and fend for myself in a school I didn't know my way around, but I reassured him that I'd be fine.

Science was essentially the same as History. We got our schedules for the year and went over the material we'd be covering. All standard first day stuff.

English and Spanish, after Science, followed the same pattern.

At last, at twelve o'clock the clock sang out its chime, and I followed a pack of giggling girls to the lunch room. I couldn't quite make out their conversation – some new boy or something. I rolled my eyes in dismay of the human race. Disgraceful. How one gender could get so... tittery over something as trivial as a _boy _never ceased to baffle me.

Before I could eavesdrop on any more of their conversation, though, we turned the corner into the buzzing cafeteria. I realized suddenly that I was starved, and I started toward the food line with eager eyes.


	3. Nick

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

* * *

**Please read and review! And by the way, I wrote this at one in the morning, so it might be complete and utter garbage. If it is complete and utter garbage, feel free to tell me so. Please do. Please tell me WHATEVER you thought it was, garbage or not. Whatever. Just... yeah. **

**And sorry I'm taking a while to update - I've been SO busy. Mock trial pretty much every day, tons of homework, working at the homeless shelter... lots of stuff. NOT much time to write. So sorry about that. I'm really behind on _all _my fanfictions. My schedule will clear up soon, though, so I'll be able to write more and write more frequently then. Thanks to everyone who commented, and thanks to everyone who reads!**

**-Max**

**

* * *

**

Ch. 3 - Nick

I tapped my foot impatiently as the end of the line began to come into view. I'd been waiting for almost ten minutes, and I suspected another threeish before I actually got my food. Glancing around the room, I saw a sea of unfamiliar heads. I recognized a couple of them from my classes, and I could only put names to a select few of those.

So, instead of staring around aimlessly like a puppy at a house party, I tried to scout out Amanda and her friends. It didn't take long. She was sitting at a table in the middle of the room and sipping her Coke discretely, while the girls around her were doubled over laughing. I glanced back at the lady at the counter as she fumbled for change and handed it to the girl ahead of me. I moved up, finally ordering.

"I'll have two of the turkey sandwiches, please. And a Sunkist. And a chocolate chip cookie," I told her. It's funny how watching people eat for ten minutes can make you extra hungry.

"Um, that'll be eleven seventy-two," she said, and handed me my food.

"Thanks," I muttered, as dumped the money into her hand. I took my tray and headed toward Amanda's table. I was about halfway there, when Jake spotted me from a few tables away.

"Hey, Melanie! You wanna come sit with us?" he yelled over the din of a thousand hungry students.

"Um, I'm sitting with them today," I said apologetically, indicating towards Amanda. "Tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled back, and I saw him lean in and murmur something to his friends, who then looked up at me with interest and back at him. I blinked, then continued toward Amanda's table, where she was deep in conversation.

"Hey," I said, and she looked up at me, brightening.

"Oh, hey! Yeah, grab a chair and come sit. What's your name again? Maureen?"

"Melanie," I told her, pulling up an empty chair from the next table over.

"Yeah, that's right. Guys, this is Melanie, and she's new," she told her friends.

"Um, hi," I said uncomfortably.

They each told me their names, which I promptly forgot. We went over the basic stuff. _Yes_, I'm from Maine. _Yes, _I like it here. _No, _I don't have any questions or problems with the school.

"So anyway," one girl with straight maple-brown hair and green eyes finally said, changing the subject, "Amanda was just telling us about this new boy..." She trailed off, as they all looked at each other and started giggling furiously.

"Okay, okay!" Amanda finally chimed in. "There was this really hot guy in my French class. Like, _really_. He's really tall, and he has this messy dark hair and these dark eyes," she continued, gesticulating. A lot. "And I found out. His name. Is Nick!" she squealed, and her friends joined in. "I wanted to find out his name. So I packed up my stuff really slowly, and I waited for him to leave. And when he left, the teacher said, 'Bye Nick!'"

"Where is he?" one of her friends asked. Bright blond hair and sharp blue eyes. Amanda twisted around in her chair, scouring the cafeteria. A flash of recognition crossed her face, and she quickly turned back to the table, leaning in.

"There. Sitting next to David and Peter. In the black shirt." Her friends looked around for a moment until they found him, then squealed in agreement. I continued looking around, not sure where I was supposed to be looking. Or what I was supposed to be looking for.

"Which one?" I asked mildly.

"Look four tables down and two to the right. The hot one in the black shirt," the one with the maple-colored hair told me.

I looked back, and immediately saw who they were talking about. He was sitting across from Jake, listening to their conversation. He _was _cute - they were right about that. Black waves of hair fell slightly over one of his eyes, and the rest was kind of messy in an organized way. He wasn't smiling, but I could tell from his posture that he was relaxed. His deep eyes were focused but gentle, and the sharp lines of his jaw wasn't tight. One elbow was propped up on the table, his hand in his hair.

I felt an instinctive pull toward him. A strange impulse to protect him. It was like I knew him from somewhere, but... not. No, it was different than that. That feeling is more of an imprint left on your brain, and my brain had no reaction to this new boy. This was more like something woven into the very fiber of who I am, something that I couldn't help but obey. I understood him, I could see everything behind his impassive face. He was kind of relaxed, a bit uncomfortable, and a little bit... empty. I don't know how to describe it. I was a combination of unsettled and relieved by his presence. I didn't know which was stronger.

"He is so adorable!" the blond one said, drawing me back from my reverie, "Isn't he, Mel? Can I call you Mel?"

"Uh, sure," I answered, ignoring her first question.

"I wonder if he's gonna be in any of my classes," said the blond-haired girl.

"I wonder if he's into music," said the maple-haired one.

"I wonder if he does sports," said a girl with black hair.

They all looked at each other, and started giggling again. I smiled with them, a little unsure.

That's pretty much how lunch went. Talking about Nick, giggling, talking about more Nick, talking about other boys, more giggling. I wasn't at all used to talking about this kind of stuff, but I kind of enjoyed it in a weird, voyeuristic way. And it was also pretty uncomfortable. I'm not good with all the feelings stuff. The touchy-feely, hearts-and-rainbows type things, I could do without.

Eventually, though, the cafeteria's grandfather clock rang out, and there was a mad dash toward the trash cans and a mass exodus from the cafeteria. Again, I was one of the last people out of the room. When I finally did leave, I wasn't exactly sure which way I was supposed to go, so I picked one direction and hoped I'd got it right. I was feeling only a little lost, when I came to the right room. I let out a breath of relief, and walked into the math classroom.

It was exactly like before.

I saw him there, and I wanted to do... _something_. I don't even know what. I could feel that desire _there, _though, even if I couldn't identify it. I was too busy staring at him in confusion and frustration and thrust forward, that I didn't even notice he was staring back at me. I felt myself walking over toward him, as if methodically, and sitting down at the desk next to him.

The feeling went beyond him. I could feel a battle ensuing within _me_. The logical part of me telling me to forget about this strange feeling, and the other part telling me to go to him and embrace the feeling, like two voices in my head. I don't even know what I wanted to do to him. Hug him, or something. It was more the fact that he was _there_ that I seemed to care about.

I dropped my backpack on the floor with a thump, and tried hectically to regain my posture. I could see him lean over toward me, and he began to speak.


	4. Maximum Ride

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

**

* * *

**

**Please read and review! Thanks!!**

**

* * *

**

**Okay. Don't start. I know. Trust me, I know. I can explain. Actually, no, I can't, but I can kind of sort of somewhat diminish it. I went away. First for a week, and then later for two weeks. With no electronics. And other than that, I've been VERY busy. School, other stuff. Other Stuff. Deserving of capitals. Anyway, stuff. And ****_I know _I've been worse than horrible. But I was less abusive to this story than I have been to some other ones. *coughcoughTakingOffcough* Ummm, what other petty, inconsequential reasons can I find to justify the two and a half month gap?  
**

**...my dog ate my computer?**

**

* * *

  
**

Ch. 4 - Maximum Ride

"Hey." That was it. I blinked.

"Hi," I said, feeling ridiculously pathetic for reacting like this to anyone. A _boy_, nonetheless. "Um, I'm Melanie."

"Nick," he said. He turned around in his seat, taking in all the students with their designer clothes and designer handbags reapplying their makeup and stepping primly into the classroom like they owned the place. "So, is everyone always like this?" he asked, unimpressed.

"I wouldn't know," I said. "It's my first day here."

"Really? Me too."

"I know," I said, then mentally slapped myself for it. _Try not to sound like a stalker, Mel, try not to sound like a stalker_. He seemed unfazed by the comment, though, and I was relieved. He looked around some more, and I was unable to retain my curiosity any longer. "I'm sorry, you look _so _familiar. Have we met? Before?"

His head snapped back to me, and he became ruminative.

"You look really familiar too..." he trailed off.

"Ever been to Maine?" I asked, halfway smiling. His expression grew lighter, and he shook his head.

"Visited Colorado?"

"Nope."

"Maybe a past life, then," he reasoned, looking thoughtful. I laughed at this, and he smiled and looked down. Then back up at me. His dark eyes bore into my light brown ones, and at that moment I could swear there was some kind of connection between us. I was about to say something, I don't know what, but Mr. Greene called the class to order, a tall, gray fellow who had the manner of a man who spent his weekends on his yacht surrounded by a bunch of girls in their twenties with low-cut dresses.

"Algebra Two," he began, "is a complex course. It requires you to think with creativity in ways that the class you took two years ago did not. You see, Algebra One was merely asking you to apply the concepts, to do the math, so to speak," he said with a chuckle. "Algebra Two requires you to ask 'why? Why does this work?'" He continued on like this for the full forty minutes, and I found myself poking my forehead with my pencil eraser for the majority of it.

Nick and I left the classroom together. We exchanged a glance, acknowledging the class, and began walking down the corridor. No words were needed. I knew exactly what he was thinking. And he knew it too.

After a moment of silence, I realized I had no idea what class I had next. "Uh, just a moment," I told Nick, propping my backpack up against a row of lockers and pulling out a crumpled schedule. I saw the list of classes I'd had earlier today... then nothing. There was nothing written in the space where the class info should have been. "Umm, it's blank," I said. Then turned to look at Nick for some explanation. His mouth didn't change, but I could tell his eyes were amused.

"It means you have a free period," he said. "I have one too. I think the whole ninth grade does."

"Do you wanna go to the library?" I asked. Wherever that was.

"Sure," he said. Neither of us moved, neither of us knowing where to go, and we both burst out laughing.

"Let's go this way," I said, still smiling. "We have forty minutes to kill."

Long story short, it _didn't _take us to the library. It _did_, however, take us to the front of the school, where there were people who _knew _where the library was. We made our way there, and were greeted by ornate French doors. The inside was covered in murals. The ceiling, the walls, the bookcases. The whole thing was probably about four times the size of my old house in Maine. The bookcases covered about half the wall, and more of them jutted out from the wall like a comb. Sliding ladders were affixed to the floor and the tops of the bookcases, which were about twenty feet up.

"Good luck choosing a book," I mumbled, suddenly grateful for the shabby, beaten-up copy of Maximum Ride in my bag.

"Um," he agreed, eying the ladders warily.

"You can read my book, if you want," I offered, half-laughing. "I've already read it. It's pretty good, actually."

"What book?" he asked, still looking at the bookcases riding the ceiling.

"Maximum Ride," I told him. That snapped his attention to me.

"What?" he asked, more alertly.

"You've heard of it?" I asked, curious.

"Yeah, it's my favorite book," he said. I was surprised. Nobody I'd talked to had ever heard of it before, much less read it.

"Mine too," I said. "I'm, like, obsessed. Too obsessed. Verging on unhealthy," I said, then mentally cringed at the bad timing of my self-editing system.

"Oh, me too," he said, nodding seriously, and I breathed a breath of relief. "Very unhealthy. I've had dreams about it, it's that bad." I blinked, and laughed once to myself. "Don't laugh, it's rude," he scolded, and I laughed more.

"No- it's that I've had dreams about it too," I told him, then sighed. "I wish I could fly," I murmured, looking up at the mural above us.

"I know," he said, and I looked back at him. He was contemplative, thoughtful. His angular features were lit on one side from the light coming through the floor-to-ceiling window next to us. Something, some forgotten memory, was tugging at me, threatening to resurface, and I could feel it in my chest and in the back of my throat, a gently chiding pain. I felt myself sinking into the plush red couch behind me, and I closed my eyes.

"You okay?" I heard Nick ask, and I nodded softly.

"Yeah." I opened my eyes, and he was staring down at me, a speck of concern in his seemingly indifferent gaze. "Yeah." He scrutinized my expression for another moment, then sat down next to me.

He stared broodingly into space for a moment, before saying, "I liked that MIT hacker guy." I laughed at this. Then again, remembering the moments with him.

"Yeah," I agreed. I pulled out my book, and it didn't take me long at all to find the part where they meet him in the subway station. We both read it silently, and I smiled. So did Nick.

"I can't believe Max and Fang haven't gotten together yet," he said.

"I _know! _I mean, it's so obvious how they're meant to be with each other and all. They're so stubborn and it's so _annoying..._" I trailed off. It was all true, but I felt awkward talking about it. Especially with Nick.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. Nick stood up in one swift movement, and I looked over at him.

"I'm gonna go get something to eat. I guess I'll see you in class. Or tomorrow." One chunk of dark hair had fallen over his eye, and he tossed it out of the way.

"'Kay," I said. "See you." I watched him walk away, out the fancy French doors, until he was gone.


	5. Question and Answer

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

**

* * *

**

**Please read and review! Thanks!! And sorry I'm taking so long with the updates. So incredibly, horribly, terribly long. I'm just so busy, and I've had so little time to write. But it's Spring Break soon, so I'll get some time off then. And until then, I'll just do as much as I can. Again, I'm _so _sorry. Anyway, hope you like the chapter!**

**-Max**

**

* * *

**

Ch. 5 - Question and Answer

The rest of the day was uneventful. I didn't have Amanda or Jake or Nick in any of my other classes. The rest of my classes were pretty much the same as the first. Hearing about what we're going to do. Syllabus. Whatever. I watched as the clock made its way to three-thirty and the grandfather clocks gonged out their message of release. All in all, it wasn't a bad day. Bizarre. _Definitely _bizarre. But not bad.

I packed up my stuff, got the books I needed for my homework from my locker, and made my way through the crowd toward the line of cars. Again, I couldn't help but notice the makes. Maserati. Porsche. Ferrari. There was even a Rolls-Royce in there (and I couldn't help but think it was horribly ugly). Our relatively modest Lexus fit in pretty well. I didn't see the point in fancy cars. It was just part of this great promotion Dad got that brought us to L.A. in the first place.

My mom was waiting for me in the front seat, grinning and waving at me. Her eyes were expectant, and I knew she was going to go into full blown-out Inquisitor Mom Mode. She was prepared with honey rolls which were still warm from the oven, maybe to soften me up. They usually did the job, and I doubted now would be any different.

"How was your day, honey?" she asked.

"Fine," I said shortly. I was starting to feel a little drowsy, and I didn't feel like launching into anything too intricate, but I didn't feel like arguing about it either.

"Oh, don't be like that. I want _details. _I want _gossip_. Are there any cute guys?" she asked, pressing.

"Ugh. You are _such _a teenager, Mom."

"You didn't answer my question," she replied, not meeting my eyes, her voice harder.

"Sort of. There's one guy called Jake. He's kinda cute," I said. I didn't know why, but I didn't want to tell her about Nick. Like some natural instinct pushing me, telling me that telling her could end up badly. And my natural instincts have a tendency of being right.

"Hmm," she said brusquely, seemingly dissatisfied. She lightened. "But you had a good day?"

"Yeah."

"That's great. I knew you'd do just fine at the new school. Is there anything you'd like? For celebrating?"

"I'm okay. Maybe another one of those rolls. Actually, I'm just kind of tired. I think I'll just go home and read or something."

"Of course. Anything you'd like."

I turned on the radio and flipped around until I found a station I liked. I still had to get used to the new stations - I was still used to the ones I was familiar with in Maine. The rest of the drive was silent, except for the music. I closed my eyes and waited to get home. Finally, I felt us pull up and come to a stop. I yanked my backpack over my shoulder, trudged through the corridors and up the stairs, shut the door, and flopped on the bed.

Do you ever have that feeling where you _know _there's something you want, but you don't know what it is, much less have the willpower to go get it? That's where I was. Usually when I feel like that I go eat something, because I could pretty much always eat more food. But now the kitchen was so far away, and I didn't feel like going to all the trouble of getting it.

I felt my hand moving of its own accord, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen. I began to write, without even knowing what I was doing.

_Nick eats an apple at the beach._

I stopped, looked at what I was doing, crumpled up the paper, and flung it half-heartedly toward the trash can across the room. It missed by about a foot. I groaned and flopped back on the bed, only a little worried about my grip on reality.

I opened my eyes, not knowing I had closed them. The shadows had completely moved, so I was guessing I had been out for a while. The smell of pasta and bacon wafted up to my room, the notion of food waking me up considerably. I ambled down toward the source of the smell, and found an impressive-looking meal waiting for me there.

"I was just about to go get you," my mom said.

"I was just asleep. Still am, actually, a little bit."

`"Well, dinner's ready, if you want it."

I pulled out a chair and sat down. My dad appeared through the doorway about a minute later, and my mom brought us each our plates filled with delicious-looking mazzarella-stuffed pasta with crumbled bacon and perfect, bright red cherry tomatoes. Another gourmet meal from my mom, as usual.

"How was your day, Melanie?" my dad asked. His face was soft, but his eyes were sharp.

"Good. Fine."

"That's good to hear. What's the school like?"

"Fancy."

"Fancy?" my mom asked.

"Yes. Fancy," I repeated slowly, only a little perturbed that this was a surprise for her. I mean, hadn't they looked into the school at _all _before signing me up and shipping me off? I reached for my fork and took a bite of the pasta. It was good. Really good. No shock there. "Thanks for dinner, Mom. This is really good," I said, trying to change the subject.

"You're welcome. And thanks," she smiled at me.

"Did anything seem... familiar?" my dad asked, seemingly ignorant to the discussion about the food. I half-swallowed a big bite of pasta.

"Huh? Familiar? Familiar how?" I asked with my mouth still full.

"I don't know, did anything remind you of anything? Like, anything back at your old school in Maine?" he said, shifting slightly. The question made sense, it was just weirdly phrased.

"No, not really. I mean, Lakewood is all... upscale."

"Hm," he murmured, and I frowned.

"Why do you ask?" I asked, curious.

"I don't know, I was just thinking about my old job in Maine today. The woman in reception really reminds me of the one back in Kennebunkport."

"Oh."

* * *

After dinner I went back upstairs. I saw my Maximum Ride book lying on my bed, but I tossed it aside, grabbed my headphones, put on my music, and closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes in a familiar room. I was lying on my bed, and there was a sharp buzzing in my left ear. I looked over, and my Mickey Mouse alarm clock was buzzing. With one hand, I leaned over and smacked it off. I walked through a bare, white hallway until I came to a kitchen. There I opened the refrigerator and poured myself a glass of orange juice. The leaves outside were turning bright orange and brown, and some had begun to fall off. Suddenly everything moved; I was no longer sitting at a table, but I was standing at a counter watching a young, blond boy making pancakes. The room was full of kids now - five others - and there was the buzz of conversation. I was talking to a dark-haired boy about something important. I could feel my mouth moving. He was talking about safety, making plans. There was pressure. A lot of it. Then it faded out into darkness.


	6. Gym

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

**

* * *

**

**Please read and review! Thanks!! And that wasn't **_**too **_**bad, was it? The length between updates? I mean, it wasn't by any means **_**great**_**, but I've done worse, right? Now that I'm on break I've been able to write more. **

* * *

**And by the way, because I can never resist some good self-promotion, if anyone needs any ideas for what to read next, check out my vlog - Five Awesome YA Fans. You can go our ning at .com/ or our YouTube channel at .com/user/FiveAwesomeYAFans. **

**

* * *

**

**Anyway, here's the chapter. I hope you like it. And one more line, because I can't get enough of them.**

* * *

Ch. 6 – Gym

The next morning was quiet. I got up, ate a breakfast of macadamia nut pancakes with sliced strawberries in silence, and changed into my gym clothes because I'd had the foresight to check my schedule and see I had gym first. Pleasant, all in all. I've never felt the need to fill every moment with talking or some other form of noise.

I got out of the car, not for the first time feeling out of place. Everyone was in their super-schmancy designer clothing with their designer bags applying their designer makeup. And here I was in a gray t-shirt and black athletic shorts with a beat-up JanSport backpack.

I walked awkwardly to my locker, filled my backpack with books, wrestled with the zipper which had decided it didn't want to close, and realized I had no clue where the gym was. I asked the kid – probably tenth grade – three lockers down from me, who briefly pointed down a corridor and walked off.

I walked in the direction he pointed down a long hallway, until I came upon a set of large, ridged, metal doors which curved away at the top. There were two small, square windows in each door, and I felt like I was walking into some portal or rock arena or something as I opened them. Behind them was a huge, perfectly polished basketball court. I looked up, and the whole ceiling was covered in different lights of different colors and different sizes. Not all of them were turned on, but enough to make the room look illuminated and dramatic. The walls were lined with sturdy-looking windows, which started about midway up the wall.

I was too busy admiring the place to notice that I'd stopped right outside the doorway and was blocking traffic. The gym teacher came over and gently led me away by the arm. He was probably in his mid-twenties, and had messy brown hair, green eyes, and a boyish smile.

"Girls' locker room is over there," he said, pointing toward a door in one of the far corners. I blinked, nodded, and headed over.

I couldn't hear a thing from the outside. But as soon as the door was open a crack, I was flooded by a tidal wave of chatter. There was a long area lined with wooden benches and filled with ninth and tenth grade girls. The place smelled like a beauty salon. I quietly slipped my backpack off and set it down on a rare empty space on the bench, and walked back out.

My footsteps made soft plunking noises that echoed throughout the space, and I tried to step as lightly as I could. I leaned against the wall near where the coach was, and waited for everyone else as they slowly filtered in.

Most of the faces were unfamiliar. A few I recognized from other classes, but I hadn't had anything to do with them. After a few minutes, I saw Jake and Nick emerge, surrounded by a whole boy pack. They were laughing about something, and looking at Nick like he had sprouted an extra head or something. He was laughing along, but I could tell he was uncomfortable. His eyes met mine, and he looked grateful for my refuge as he walked to me.

"Show her," Jake said between laughing. "Show Mel." He burst into another fit of laughter.

"Show me what?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. I looked at Nick demandingly, and he looked away.

"He can stick his shoulder blades out. Like, _way _out," offered a medium-sized sandy-haired boy who looked like he was having difficulty managing not to break down in laughter himself.

"Let me see, then," I said, daring him. He met my glance, and an unspoken challenge was arose between us.

"Fine," he said defiantly, pulling his shirt off. I didn't look away from his face as he turned around. He sort of hunched his shoulders, two defined shapes sticking out from his back, his skin stretching to adjust to the movement. One boy quickly stuck a finger in the gap, then yanked it out and started laughing hysterically, the rest of the guys joining in. Nick quickly readjusted himself to normal and pulled his shirt back on.

I was unimpressed.

"What, that's it? You guys can't do that?" I asked, confused. That action was as natural for me as being able to bend my fingers – I'd been able to do it for as long as I could remember.

"You _can_?" they asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. No problem."

"Why don't you show us, then?" one big, burly guy asked. I glared at him in disgust and was about to make some caustic remark, but the gym teacher started talking.

"This quarter we're gonna be playing hockey. Everyone get a stick and a partner and we'll start."

Nick and I glanced at each other, and I nodded. I walked over to the pile of sticks and grabbed a blue one. Nick took a black one, and a ball.

"First we're gonna work on passing. When we get outside, just hit the ball back and forth with your partner, and we'll go from there," the teacher said.

We walked out some doors at the back into a walled-in concrete hockey field. Nick and I stood opposite each other on the pavement, and he whammed the ball at me. Acting reflexively, I stuck out the blade of my stick where the ball was coming, and angled it so that it would stop the ball. It did, and I whacked it back at Nick. I looked around. Most of the other pairings were having difficulty hitting the ball in the first place, and I could see the teacher eying us.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he said. "Next we're going to practice facing off. Tap the ground with your stick, then tap the other person's stick, then the ground, then stick, ground, stick, and then try and be the first to hit the ball." Everyone found a place on the concrete to practice, and the teacher walked over to us. "You were hitting pretty hard, and pretty precisely," he said.

"Yeah, I guess," I said.

"Have you played before?" he asked. Nick and I both shook our heads. "Well, you might consider going out for the team. You've got some raw, natural talent there, if you know what I mean," he said, and walked off.

"You gonna try for it?" I asked Nick.

"Nah, too many other things going on," he said. "What about you?"

"Hockey's fun, I guess. Not my thing. Anyway, how many hockey players can they get to dedicate five days a week to practice and games at a school with about two hundred students?" I asked. "Let's face off."

Hockey _was _fun. Not a whole lot of exercise – I had barely broken a sweat by the time we finished, although we didn't actually get to play a game. It was all prepping. Still, I enjoyed myself, and Nick did too. By the end his dark hair was flopping in his eyes, his eyes were gleaming, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. He looked very alive.

"I like hockey," I decided.

"Your hair's a mess," he told me, eying it.

"My hair's _always _a mess. I pretty much have to choose between messy hair and no hair at all. And all things considered…" I trailed off.

"What do you have next?" he asked. I blinked.

"Uh, Chem. Then History, then Spanish." I told him.

"Okay," he said, smiling a little ruefully. "I'll see you at lunch, then."

"Yeah. Lunch," I called out as he walked away, leaving me flustered, confused, and strangely happy.


	7. Another Lunch

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

**

* * *

**

**Please read and review! Thanks!!! I am so so so SO bad at updating. I apologize. Repeatedly. Anyway, here's the chapter.**

**

* * *

  
**

Ch. 7 – Another Lunch

Class flew by. It was quickly becoming routine. Enter classroom, spend the better part of an hour decorating the margins of my notebook, and leave said classroom. Not much to it.

As I was getting used to the school, the school was apparently getting used to me. I was old news. There were far, far fewer curious glances from the other students than there had been the first day, and I can't say I minded. Everyone's attention was now focused on Mrs. Pinchak, the newly appointed vice principal.

"I heard she murdered Mr. Benson to get the job," the maple-haired girl, whose name I found out was Julia, told the posse in the lunch line. With great enthusiasm, I might add.

"Yeah, she caused heart failure in an eighty-something-year-old man," said the black-haired one. Bella.

"When did he die?" I asked.

"End of last year. It was big news then. All anyone talked about for a while," Bella told me. "The school had a whole assembly and memorial service and everything."

"But then the dean got divorced, and Jennifer in eleventh grade got pregnant, and the whole thing sort of blew over," said Julia, with a solemn nod of approval from Amanda.

I reached the end of the line and took out a five to pay the lunch lady stuck rotated to cashier. Come to think of it, no lunch lady job slot is really worth having.

"Um, I told Jake I'd sit with them today," I said with an apologetic smile.

"Jake?" asked Carrie, the blond. The four of them looked at each other and started giggling. I chewed my lip patiently until they were finished.

"Well, enjoy yourself. And we'll be expecting details," said Amanda. More giggles. I politely half-smiled, then took evasive action, heading over towards Jake. Sitting with him were two faces I didn't recognize, and Nick. I felt myself smile a little bit.

"Hey, you remembered!" said Jake, grinning up at me as I took a seat next to him.

"'Course I remembered," I said.

"This is Peter, and David, and Nick," he told me, gesturing respectively toward a boy with shaggy red hair and green eyes, a boy with shortish brownish hair and bright blue eyes, and Nick.

"We've already met," Nick told Jake, and I nodded gratefully in a way that felt very nonmelike. Jake glanced at us uncomfortably for a moment before taking a generous bite of his pizza.

"So what do you think about this new vice principal person?" Peter asked. I rolled my eyes. Guys are just as capable of gossip as girls are; they just don't label it.

"She seems sort of tall and blond and… imposing," said David. "But I guess that's sort of her job as vice principal. To impose."

"Well, I think Lakewood Prep used to not have a vice principal, back when it was still really small," said Jake. I snorted into my orange juice. I couldn't help it. His definition of "normal-sized" did not really coincide with most other people's on the planet. Jake looked at me, blinked, and grinned. "Yeah, I know. But they got on fine without one."

"Maybe not, if they ended up getting one," David pointed out. There was an uncomfortable pause before he turned to me and asked, "What was your old school like?"

"Um, you know, normal, I guess," I said, oh-so-coherently. "It's been too long. It's gotten blurry." It _had _gotten blurry. I strained to remember something. Anything. I could see generic white walls, rows of green lockers, faceless masses of people busily walking somewhere. I remembered my teachers, what classes I took, the campus. But when I struggled to remember any specific moment, any detailed memory, I failed. It was all slipping away so fast.

"Melanie?" asked Nick. The word registered in my brain a moment after I heard it, and I looked up at him. "You were gone for a moment there."

"Yeah, I was just… thinking about Maine," I said, pulling myself together.

"You must miss it there," said Jake, suddenly sympathetic. "Your friends and your house and everything." I frowned slightly. That wasn't it at all. I didn't say anything.

"Why are they staring at you like that?" asked Peter, who was gazing over my left shoulder towards the girl gaggle. They were giggling and staring over at us in a completely non-obvious kind of way.

"No idea," I said, turning back towards my plate and shoving a french fry in my mouth. A thin, perfectly crisply, perfectly seasoned french fry. Probably imported directly from Belgium.

I glanced up at Nick, who hadn't really said anything this whole conversation. He was gazing across the room at the wall, which wasn't really a wall. It was a huge window, divided into a couple different panels. It was weird how clear it was. There wasn't a single smudge. If not for the lining of the panels and the reflection of the cafeteria lights, I wouldn't have known there was a window there at all. Outside was the park in the middle of the school. From the cafeteria, you wouldn't know it was a school. All you'd see is some trees, a path, some fountains, and lines of detailed columns on either side, supporting a red brick building.

"Gosh, I'm not looking forward to the history paper. I'm gonna be in such a pickle when we have to write it," said David, pulling me back to earth. Actually, he said something a little more unsavory than that, which I won't repeat here in its unedited entirety.

"Oh, my God, I know," said Jake. "Fifteen freaking pages." (Again with the editing.) "About _history. _I'm going to die."

I sighed quietly to myself and chewed my pizza slowly. I didn't want to think about school right then; I got enough class in class. _Why do we have to eat in a cafeteria, _I wondered, _when we have that whole mini-park out there? _I thought of all the things I _could_ be doing right then, instead of what I _was _doing. I sighed, again.

"Hello? Earth to Melanie?" I heard Jake say. I blinked and looked at him. "What's got you so distracted?"

"Chocolate chip cookie dough," I told him. "I'm really in the mood for some right now." Nick looked up at me with a weird, sort of discerning look. I pretended not to notice.

"So what are you doing this weekend, Melanie?" asked David. I shrugged.

"Same thing as most weekends, I guess. Sleep in. Sit at home, bored. Watch TV. I don't know."

"Because there's gonna be a party at David's house on Saturday. If you want to come," said Jake.

One thing you may not know about me is that parties and me don't mix. I've never been the partygoer type, and I doubt I ever will meet that social standard. It's not that I have anything against music or dancing or people or fun or anything like that. It's the _combination_ of them all at the same time that I can't stand, especially in small, cramped rooms where you can't take more than a step in any direction without bumping into someone.

"Mmm, I don't know. No. I don't think so," I said, forcing extra politeness into my tone.

"Oh, come on. If we can drag _him _to it, we can drag you too," said Peter, gesturing toward Nick.

I glanced over at Nick, surprised. I mean, sure, I'd only just met him, but he didn't really seem like much of a partygoer either. He sort of half-shrugged, as if to say, "Not my choice. They're dragging me."

"I _really _am not the type that functions well at parties, or really any type of festive event. Ever," I said, sticking with the politeness, which hopefully didn't sound too strained.

"Mmm, tried that one," said Nick, offhandedly.

"Of course you can function at parties. Everyone can, with the right mindset," Jake told me eagerly. Again I was struck by his canine resemblance.

"Yeah, I don't have the right mindset, though. That's the problem."

"We'll help you loosen up. It'll be fun," said Peter.

"Not for anyone within a ten yard radius of me. For them, it will _not _be pleasant."

"Tried that one too," said Nick. I turned and frowned at him.

"You're being very unhelpful, you know that?" I said, still frowning at him in an accusing way.

"At least if you come, I'll have someone to wallow in boredom and discomfort with," he pointed out, oh-so-bluntly.

"How selfless of you," I said, still glowering. He did not, as I hoped he would, shrink away at all at my glare. His dark eyes gazed back into mine, his face remaining as statue-solemn as it ever was. My fingers sort of twitched reflexively under the table.

I broke his gaze and sighed. I actually _would _be sitting around the house being bored on Saturday anyway. And Nick, who seemed to share my feelings on parties, would be there, so we could, as he said, wallow together. Tandem wallowing. Something like that.

"What time?" I asked, defeated. Jake, David, and Peter grinned.

"Seven pm 'til whenever everyone leaves. Forty-seven Lancaster Avenue," said David. "There _will _be food."

"_And _drink," added Peter. My eyes narrowed a fraction.

"And music," continued Jake, and I blinked. Sighed. What had I just gotten myself into?

I poked at my empty plate with my fork, still hungry, and disappointed in myself for giving in so easily. I could've put up more of a fight.

"Hey, Mel," called Carrie. "Oh! Hey," she said to the guys, pretending to notice them there.

"Mel?" asked Jake, grinning. Nick had that odd, interested half-smile again.

"I was wondering if you'd copied down the Spanish homework?" she said as a question. "I missed it."

"Um, yeah." While I reached down, fumbling for my planner, she smiled and giggled, looking around the cafeteria. _Way to be obvious about it_, I thought, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, you going to the party this Saturday?" Peter asked her. "David's place. Seven."

Carrie giggled again. "Yeah, of course. It okay if I bring them along too?" she asked, motioning with her head toward the rest of the Girl Gang. Peter nodded, smiling.

"It's in the workbook. Page twelve to thirteen," I said, interrupting their flirtfest. Carrie looked down at me, apparently having forgotten I was there.

"Oh. Thanks," she said. "See you there," she told the guys, with a slow smile. I rolled my eyes again, and looked involuntarily over at Nick. He was staring at his plate. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and the bell rang.

I stood up quickly, determined not to be the last one out of the cafeteria again. I sprinted (or as close as I could come to sprinting without alarming the other students and/or faculty) toward the trash can, then back to the table for my backpack, then for the door. I wasn't the last this time, but I was by no means the first, or even near the beginning. Somewhere towards the end of the middle third of people, I'd say, or towards the beginning of the last third.

As I walked to my math class, I silently vowed to myself to make it out in the beginning third of people by the end of the semester, and I smiled.


	8. Mrs Pinchak

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.**

* * *

**Okay. I know. It's been, what, three months? Four? Too long, anyway. Probably nobody's even still reading, but I feel like I should apologize anyway. I've just been SO swamped. I'm doing a ton of stuff after school, and I usually finish homework around midnightish, not including free time. Still, that's no excuse for me not writing on weekends and stuff. I've been lazy. And I'm sorry. And if I were any good at apologies, I'd have written a super long, two thousand word chapter to maybe try to make up a little for lost time. But this is short. And probably not the most interesting chapter I've ever written. But I really am sorry for not writing, and I was feeling really guilty about it, to the point where I just sat down and wrote this instead of a lot of other stuff I probably should have been doing. Anyway, here it is. And sorry. And I promise I'll _try _to get back into the swing of things, and update more regularly and frequently. Sorry. Here's the chapter.**

* * *

Ch. 8 – Mrs. Pinchak

As soon as I stepped out of the cafeteria I was mauled by an onslaught of questions and giggles from the girls. I was expecting it, of course, and had already prepared myself. I tuned most of it out, answering, when necessary, with "mhm."

"Who did most of the talking?"

"What did you talk about?"

"Which one asked you to the party?"

"Did they mention me at all?"

"They are so hot. Oh my god. You need to pitch in a good word for me."

"I thought I saw them looking over at us once. What were they saying about us?"

I walked with my head down, letting them talk amongst themselves about their plans for the party and for the guys, until they headed down one hallway and I headed down another. I breathed in a sigh of relief, taking in the silence like a man stuck in the Antarctic taking a hot shower.

"I thought I saw Nick looking at me. Like, a lot. I think he might be into me."

I looked up at that one, seeing it was Julia who had spoken. I immediately resented this, then wondered why. Julia was pretty, and Nick was my friend. I should be happy for both of them if they got together. Then I corrected myself, realizing that Julia was an airhead and Nick deserved better, which would explain my initial resentment. I looked back down, sort of satisfied with myself.

I only looked up again when I bumped into someone. I recognized some of their faces from Gym. The one I'd run into was big and pudgy, with jeans barely hanging around his hips and a baggy mesh shirt with the name of some sports team on it.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and he and his friends kept walking, elbowing me as they passed me. I glared at them, shoving them off. I could hear them laughing from down the hallway, and I made a mental note to avoid them.

"Are you okay, Melanie?" I heard a voice ask. I turned around to see a tall blond woman, with sharp features. I quickly realized she must be Mrs. Pinchak, the new vice principal. "I saw them shove you. I'll talk to them about that later." Her words were friendly enough, but for some reason I was suddenly unsettled.

"Yeah, it's no problem. I'm fine," I said, deciding to go with my instinct and end the conversation as soon as possible. My instinct was often right.

"How are you adjusting here? Do you miss Maine? You're feeling fine here?" she asked, her face concerned. I detected something unidentifiable in the back of her eyes.

"I thought you were new. How do you know I'm from Maine?" I asked, unable to shed the feeling that she would somehow use my answers against me.

"I like to check out my students' backgrounds before I teach. That way I know which ones to keep an eye on."

"You don't need to keep an eye on me. I'm fine here," I said, trying not to sound defensive.

"That's good to hear," she answered, with a touch of relief in her voice.

"Um, I'm kind of late for class. I should probably go."

"Yes, of course. We don't want your tardies to add up," she said with a smile. I tried to return it, and hurried off to class, unsure what to make of her.

* * *

**Review?**


End file.
